


you don't feel pretty, you just feel used

by strawberryfinn



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Domestic, Future Fic, M/M, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/pseuds/strawberryfinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn visits an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you don't feel pretty, you just feel used

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trespresh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/gifts).



> This story is for trespresh because she's my favourite and I love her and she wanted a story based on "The Lucky One" by Taylor Swift. Especially the lyrics "you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used" and "I heard you found a bunch of land somewhere, chose a rose garden over Madison Square."

Zayn checks the address on the piece of paper before sighing. This is it alright. It took him a good hour and a half to get there, but it's the right place.

The house is smaller than he expected it to be, and the grass in front of it is rather untamed. There's a few potted cacti lined along the walkway, and he grins as he looks at the brightly color-splattered mailbox.

Zayn pulls his denim jacket closer to his body, steps up the pathway to the unassuming house. It's a plain stucco-d white colour with a brick roof.

He knocks the door once, twice, before it opens, and a blonde man fills up the doorframe. Niall looks almost the same as when Zayn last saw him, but he has a pair of thin-framed glasses on his face, and he's less wiry. He's put on a bit of weight, looks healthy, and would look happy if he didn't look so tired.

"Good to see you mate," Niall says automatically, pulling Zayn in for a hug. "You look great, man," he says, beaming, pulling Zayn into his small house. "I've seen you around on the tele, seems like you're doing great—glad you came to visit."

"You... you look good too," Zayn offers hesitantly, and Niall takes his smile eagerly.

"Well make yourself at home, then," Niall replies.

Zayn walks down cautiously, eyeing the framed pictures on the wall. There's a lot of Niall and Harry, several of all of the boys. He stops in front of a framed picture of the boys from the VMAs and swallows hard, feeling his eyes mist over a bit. He stares at how tightly his hand is fisted in Liam's jacket, how happy Louis looks, how alive Harry—Harry—looks...

_Prominent member of pop-sensation One Direction, Harry Styles, was been admitted into the hospital early this morning for reports of a mental breakdown. The boys are currently waiting for his . A tearful Niall Horan, Styles's boyfriend and also a member of One Direction, declined to comment._

"Zayn?" A familiar voice breaks through his line of vision. "Zayn, you alright mate?"

Zayn snaps his head up abruptly to catch Niall looking at him worriedly. Niall's eyes flicker to the framed picture, and he runs his fingers through his hair. He's removed his glasses at this point, and he looks so familiar, just like that carefree boy Zayn used to know, used to call his best friend-

"Some tea maybe?" Niall offers, and Zayn almost wants to say yes because Niall looks so tired and wan, but he shakes his head.

"'M good," he answers shortly, "can't stay too long. I've got an interview tonight"

"That's alright," Niall replies, leading Zayn into the living room where he flops down onto the couch. "I'm glad you came to visit anyway."

Niall's splayed on out the couch in a pair of grey sweatpants, the ties frayed at the edges. Zayn fidgets a bit in the armchair, drumming out an absent-minded pattern on the shoulder of the chair as he glances at the beaming faces from the framed pictures.

There's one on the table next to him with all of the boys smiling, bright eyes. Niall's sunburnt, his golden hair almost blonde and his eyes are excited and alive, as Harry's presses a kiss to his cheek. Louis's mouth is flopped open in a protest, but there's no venom in his eyes, and Liam's got his arm wrapped around Zayn. There's no touch of the media in the picture, no fans, no suggestion that they're any more than five good friends. They look young, _happy._

Zayn coughs uncomfortably, finds his eyes drifting to the lopsided stack of paper on the coffee table amidst ripped envelopes, and he looks quickly away, but he knows Niall's seen him.

"Yeah, I gotta fill out the tax forms," Niall says, with a slight shrug. "You know how it is."

Zayn doesn't know how it is--he hires people to manage his finances for him, people he pays thousands, maybe even _millions?_ but he doesn't say anything. He's suddenly hyperaware that he's sitting there in his designer jeans and his t-shirt that looks like it's five dollars but he paid several hundred for, feels uncomfortable standing in this small house with its single bedroom and small kitchen table and tiny dining room. Feels like he's suffocating, like it's too tight.

"Where's Harry?" Zayn asks carefully, because he hasn't seen Harry in God knows how long—they all kind of drifted apart when the band broke up, when the media tore Harry to shreds as the circled around him like hungry vultures, and he kicks himself mentally because he didn't know it at twenty, but he knows it now, how fragile Harry was, how fragile Harry _is._

Niall stiffens at the question, and Zayn feels like he's been slapped as he watches Niall stop fidgeting at the edge of the couch, stop scratching at the line of his belly.

"He's got therapy today," Niall admits quietly, staring out somewhere, looking so sad that Zayn can't help but ask—

_because doesn't he remember what it used to be like, all five of them, taking on the road, making the world their kingdom. doesn't he remember the sold out arenas, the screams, the intoxicating rush of adrenaline, the way their voices sounded as they rang through arenas_

\--"Niall how can you stand it?" he asks, and then flames immediately, suddenly embarrassed at his outburst.

Because doesn't Niall remember how they were the kings of the world—how thrilling it was—how thrilling it still _is_ —to see their faces on the cover of a glossy magazine, to have interviews with audience members clinging to their every word they uttered like it was pure gold, how it felt to be _wanted._ "Don't you miss it?"

Niall's brow creases and he coughs, not even trying ot pretend he doesn't understand what Zayn's hinting at. He plays absently with the edge of his t-shirt and suddenly Zayn's remembered of the bright, bubbly boy with an infectious laugh rather than this twenty something year old sitting in front of him who looks like he's fifty, sixty, past his expiration date rather than a man who fell from fame only several years ago.

When Niall looks at him, Zayn can see the tears welling up at the corners of his cerulean eyes.

"Miss it every day," Niall admits softly, "I do. You know, performing and people knowing my name. Touring, especially." He tapers off and fiddles his fingers together.

 _Why don't you make a comeback?_ is on Zayn's tongue, because if anybody could do it, Niall and Harry could, really, they could. His heart is thudding because they could be together again, they could be One Direction and-

"I miss it every day," Niall says, his voice shaky and watery, "but the thing is... I'd miss _him_ even more." He pulls a picture off the table, and Zayn swallows the lump in his throat, stares at the blonde boy and the boy with curly, chocolate ringlets of hair, twin smiles on their faces, beaming up at him from the photograph. "I'd give it all up for him, you know? If I had to. I'd give it all up again for him again. Love him more than I love _it_ ," he grins now, unexpectedly, and Zayn suddenly feels like he's infringing on something private, something meant for Harry and Niall only.

"It's hard." Niall's mouth is in a thin, grim line now, and he flicks out his tongue in a way that's so familiar it makes Zayn wan to cry. "There's some days... he's so... _difficult,_ you know? Like some days he just won't stop crying and I just... the therapy bills are through the roof, and some days I just think he doesn't love me anymore."

"But. But I... I know he does," Niall braves on, a stubborn glint in his eyes. "Z, I used to think One Direction was the best thing that ever happened to me," Niall continues, but his voice seems more confident, more sure now, "but it's not. Harry... Harry is."

Zayn feels his heart stutter in his chest. Brings up his hand to swipe at his eyes.

"Take care of him, yeah, Ni?" he says quietly, like a secret.

Niall gives him a hitched, watery smile. "I always have, haven't I?"


End file.
